


The Only Place Worth Being

by starwarned



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Canon Era, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, LITERALLY SO MUCH KISSING, Libraries, M/M, POV Simon Snow, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Porn with Feelings, Rough Kissing, Secret Relationship, Smut, Watford (Simon Snow), Watford Eighth Year, kind of, lots of feelings, too many feelings? jury is still out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28221504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwarned/pseuds/starwarned
Summary: Simon and Baz snog in the library to their hearts' content, but they soon find that their hearts' content is more than either of them bargained for.A (sort of) 3+1.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 31
Kudos: 240
Collections: Secret Snowflake 2020





	The Only Place Worth Being

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/gifts).



> I have been awaiting the day that I put in my Google Calendar as SNOWFLAKE POST DAY!!!! for a while now. 
> 
> This is a gift for [@The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff). Your prompts were rad so I took them and ran with them. I also did my own personal research into every single one of your AO3 fics to see what kind of content you liked lol
> 
> Thanks so much to [@sconelover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover/pseuds/sconelover) and [@werebear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/werebear/pseuds/rhien) for betaing this fic! Sorry I use so many damn em dashes!  
> I hope you like this. I had immense amounts of fun writing it so I can only hope you have similar amounts of fun reading it :) Happy holidays! 
> 
> This is a sort of 3+1. I dare you to figure out what it is. I don’t want to spoil it :) 
> 
> The title is from “Cold Cold Man” by Saintmotel which gives me hella snowbaz vibes. I have recently discovered the magic of using lyrics as titles and I’m vibing with it.

**PART I**

**SIMON**

It started two weeks ago. And I can’t face Penny for the life of me. 

**BAZ**

In all honesty, it started three years ago when I figured out that I was in love with Simon Snow. 

I can’t even look at Dev or Niall now.

**SIMON**

We’ve been snogging in the library for two weeks. I can’t explain how it started — all I know is that I was whisper-yelling at Baz and then I was thinking about what shape his mouth makes when he’s frowning and then I was kissing him. 

And, I mean, he kissed me back. 

We haven’t talked about it since then. And we only snog in the library, even though we have a perfectly fine and secluded shared bedroom. The second both of us are in Mummer’s House together — radio silence. I can barely look at him. 

But when I’ve got him pressed up against the stacks in Watford’s library, I can’t stop staring at him. Well, when my tongue is down his throat, I’m not looking at him, because that would be _weird_ , but when he’s kissing my neck or when we’re just pressing up against each other, I can’t look anywhere else. 

He’s doing it right now — kissing my neck. He’s got his face pressed up under my jaw and he’s sucking on the skin there like he plans for the mark he’s creating to last forever. I’m trying not to make a lot of noise, but I’m kind of failing. Baz has made me realize that I’m _loud_ , especially when there’s a chance of us getting caught. 

There isn’t a chance of being caught — not really. Baz casts **Nothing to see here** every time we end up here, and we haven’t been discovered yet so I reckon it’ll continue to hold up. 

Baz nips at the mark he’s just made and then runs his tongue over it, causing a choked moan to fall from my lips. I tighten my grip on his shoulders and he presses me harder into the shelf, the edges of the wood making my back ache. He just breathes against my neck for a moment and then his teeth are on my skin, but they’re sharper than I remember. It hurts when he bites at me again. 

I instinctively jerk back. “Baz—” I say. 

He steps back and slaps a hand over his mouth. His eyes are wide. 

And I think I know what it means. 

“Baz?” I say again. I reach up and he lets me push his hand away from his mouth. 

And while I expected to see fangs there, I really didn’t expect to be… so turned on by the sight. They’re almost too big for his face, poking out over his bottom lip and making his mouth softer. 

“It’s fine,” I say softly. And then I’m pushing back in to kiss him. 

He stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “ _Fine?_ ” he hisses. “You’ve been telling the entire student population that I’m a vampire for years and now it’s _fine?_ Now you have definitive proof and it’s just _fine?”_

I shrug. “I mean, as long as you don’t bite me.” _Although_ , considering it, I don’t think I’d mind it that much as long he didn’t turn me into a vampire or whatever. 

“Simon, you idiot—” 

I kiss him and grab his collar to tug him into me. He kisses me back after only a moment of hesitation. I press my tongue into his mouth and trace over his fangs. He groans and pulls back. 

“You have no sense of self-preservation, do you?” he mutters. His fangs give him a bit of a lisp and it makes me want to laugh. 

I shrug again. 

He attacks my neck. (I’m not scared of it, though. I know he won’t bite me.)

“ _Baz_ ,” I whimper when he finds a sensitive spot on my collarbone to suck on. He’d previously opened the top few buttons of my shirt and is taking advantage of it now.

“Shut up, Snow,” he mutters, pulling his mouth away from my chest to admonish me and to admire the marks he’s left on my skin. 

I think Baz and I still hate each other — we haven’t talked about it enough for me to really know, but him constantly leaving marks on me feels like some sort of payback. (And it works because I can’t ever seem to leave lasting marks on _him_.) (Maybe vampires can’t bruise? Something along those lines.) 

My hands slide up and into his hair so I can dig my fingers into it and scratch at his scalp. He moans against my chest and it resonates through my whole torso. 

“ _Ah_ ,” I whine when he bites down particularly hard. His fangs must be retractable or something because I can’t feel them now. 

I’ve had enough of being at Baz’s mercy. 

I drop my hands back down to his shoulders so that when Baz pulls away for breath, I can use my leverage on him and whip us around, shoving Baz up against the shelf instead. It makes the frame rattle a bit, but I’m too busy to notice. 

I finish unbuttoning Baz’s shirt from where it was already partially open and I run my hand slowly over the expanse of his chest. 

“You’re so fit,” I breathe, not able to find one specific spot to look at — they’re all so fucking lovely. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Baz huffs. “Get on with it.” 

He grabs me by the cheeks and kisses me hard. 

I don’t know that I can ever tell anyone this. I think it will destroy me. But Baz is an incredible bloody kisser. He’s not practiced, that much I can tell. But he’s amazingly enthusiastic and, Merlin, he is a _giver._ He knows exactly when to use his tongue, when to pull back, when to throw in a teasing bite. It’s surprisingly wonderful. 

I’m panting breathlessly by the time Baz has pulled back. And I have to gain the upper hand again somehow. So I make a bold move and press into him so we can grind our fronts together. 

Baz gasps and shuts his eyes, letting his head fall back against the bookshelf. 

_Perfect._

Baz and I haven’t _gone very far_ during our clandestine meetings in the library. We snog and sometimes grind, but even that’s new and dangerous. Every new action feels like we’re teetering further and further down a line. I don’t know where the line stops. 

But when I’ve got my hands wrapped around his hips and I’m rolling mine forward into him, I am free to stare at him as much as I like. He’s got his eyes shut tight right now (but I know what they look like when he’s horny — grey and dark and stormy and fucking sexy as anything), and his breath is coming out in soft little panting sighs that just make me impossibly harder, my trousers uncomfortably restricting. 

“Nngh, _Simon_ ,” he moans, and I nearly fall over. 

If I thought hearing Baz say my actual name in a regular circumstance would be satisfying, nothing compares to hearing him _moan_ it. I silently vow to myself that I’ll make him do it again. 

I duck my head down (because if I look at him any longer, I’ll pass out) so I can kiss and suck at the skin just below his ear, the way I’ve discovered he likes. He grinds into me harder and I cry out at the pressure, my voice only partly muffled by his face against my mouth. 

Baz lets out a quivering moan and then, “ _Fuck_ ,” against my cheek. I need _more,_ so I drop my hands down to grope at Baz’s arse (it’s a really nice arse) and pull him harder against me. 

“If we keep this up,” he breathes, his voice shaky and well-fucked, “I’m going to ruin these very nice trousers in a very undignified way.” 

I huff out a laugh and suck at his earlobe. 

I imagine myself being brave right now. I imagine myself dropping to my knees in front of Baz, saying something sexy like “ _I think you deserve something more than that, don’t you?_ ”, and tugging down his trousers to suck him off. I don’t know that I’m ready for that, though. I’ve never done more than what I’ve done with Baz and the jump from grinding, fully clothed, to sucking Baz’s dick feels like it’s over a deep chasm. 

I want to, though. Suck Baz’s dick. Much more than I thought I would. I think I’m well gay for Baz. 

For now, I take Baz’s warning to heart and let go of his arse. I force myself to take a step back away from him. 

His eyes shoot open and he looks at me, eyes questioning. 

I shrug. “I’ve got shit to do,” I say, cooly. I run a hand through my hair and then rebutton up my shirt. Baz is still standing there, his shirt fully undone and a clear outline of his stiffy in his trousers, looking fucking delicious, so I have to leave now or I never will. 

It’s not quite the cool exit I was hoping for when I have to grab my bookbag from the ground and use it as a way to cover up my embarrassing erection. 

  
  


**PART II**

**BAZ**

I wait in the library for him. It feels like I wait for him everyday, but I suppose sometimes he’s here first. (One day I didn’t come at all, _just to see_ , and he cornered me the next day and snogged me twice as hard. Worth it.) 

I’ve got my nose buried in some Magic Words textbook that I’m not even sort of reading. I’m hardly even pretending. I keep poking my head around the corner of the bookshelf every time someone enters the library and every time that it’s _not Simon_ , I’m visibly disappointed. If anyone were watching me right now, it would be pathetic. 

When Simon walks in, I have to remind myself to catch my breath. It’s late in the afternoon, he’s had a full day of classes and attempting not to go off on anyone, but he’s breathtaking nonetheless. His hair is perfectly tousled (I can’t wait to get my hands on it), his tie is loosened, and his shoulders are practically calling to me to massage them. 

He acts like he doesn’t know exactly where he’s going — he does this everytime. He walks to a shelf a few stacks over from mine and pretends to browse, taking his time, before slipping around the corner and rushing over to me. 

“You certainly took your time,” I say, raising an eyebrow when he gets up close to me. (I am loath to use the word delicious when describing someone, but Chomsky knows I’m weak when it comes to Simon Snow, and he looks _delicious.)_ (Smells delicious, too, but I’m trying to ignore that. I fed right before this for a reason.) 

“Shut up,” Simon mutters before grabbing me by the tie and pulling me into a kiss. Our teeth click together and he grunts in response and it’s undeniably and confusingly sexy. 

I couldn’t give a straight ( _ha_ ) answer as to why, but Simon’s hold on my tie is making my knees weak. It’s like he’s making sure I won’t leave. Not that I’d want to be literally anywhere else. 

I do have to pull back and drop my wand from my sleeve. I cast _“_ **_Nothing to see here_ ** _”_ quickly before Simon manages to pull me back in to his mouth. I slip my wand in my pocket so I can wrap my arms tightly around Simon’s neck. He’s warm against my chest and I press my tongue into his mouth so I can get closer to the heat source. Merlin knows I’m always cold, and Simon being my personal heater is an attractive option to say the least. 

I’m stronger than Simon (my vampire strength comes in handy every once in a while) and I use that to my advantage so I can press Simon up against the shelf behind him. We’re in the back of the library and nobody ever comes back here anyway, so I don’t mind making the shelf creak and shake a little bit. (It's nearing Christmas so there's a wreath hung up with a bell decoration that rings.)

If the way he tightens his grip on my tie and whimpers into my mouth is any indication, I’d say Simon doesn’t mind it either.

As much as I wish I could just strip him of his clothes right here, I have a plan for tonight’s snogging session. The plan is suck Simon off. (Or have him suck me off — I’m not picky.) So I am going to do everything in my power to reach said goal. 

I start by sliding my hands down from around Simon’s neck to unbutton the top few buttons of his clean white shirt. He watches me impatiently, still holding my tie in his grip like I’ll disappear if he lets go. (I won’t. You could set a thousand goblins after me and I still wouldn’t leave Simon.) 

“Hurry,” Simon mutters impatiently, moving his left hand to wrap around my waist and teasingly squeeze my arse. 

I make an undignified noise and glare at him. “Have some patience, you numpty.” 

Simon apparently decides there’s been too much talking and lets go of my arse to grab me by the back of the neck and jerk me down (a whole three inches) into a kiss. He’s got his tongue in my mouth within seconds and I respond happily, now blindly undoing the buttons of his shirt. 

Once I have an acceptable amount of skin bared, I slide both my hands against his chest and under the open shirt. 

Simon’s breath catches when I thumb over his nipples and I grin into his mouth. That’s exactly the reaction I was hoping for. I pull away from the kiss only to duck my head down and shove his shirt fully out of the way so I can suck one of his nipples into my mouth. 

“Oh, fuck me,” Simon breathes, leaning back against the shelf and pressing his chest into me. “Why does that feel so good?” 

“Erogenous zones, Snow,” I say, pulling back and pressing a few lingering kisses next to his nipple.

“Rhetorical question, Baz.” 

I nip at him. 

“ _Nngh_ ,” he chokes out. “You’re being nasty tonight.” 

“I can be nastier,” I hum, sneaking one of my hands around to pinch at his arse as I abuse Simon’s nipple between my teeth, then lave over it with my tongue. 

Simon grunts (but stays there. Interesting. I’ll have to explore this pain tolerance at some point) and mutters, “I know you can.” 

I’m not sure why we’re talking so much when we could be snogging, so I leave his chest alone and go back to kissing him. He’s let go of my tie at this point and now buries his hands in my hair. I’ll complain to him later about fucking up my hair. (I’ll never tell him that I could die happy with his fingers tangled in my hair.) 

Simon bites at my bottom lip and tugs it between his teeth as he pulls away from me. He watches as my lip bounces back and I moan softly. Before I can rush in and kiss him again, he’s pressed a thumb against my lip. 

“Your lip goes pink when I do that,” he observes. 

And it makes me feel so vulnerable that I want to smack him upside the head. “For Merlin’s sake, Snow,” I mutter. “You’re being far too soft for a secret snog in the library.” 

He blushes at that (and Crowley almighty, I’m ready to drop to my knees and show him exactly how attracted to him I am, he looks so beautiful). Then, before I’m thinking about it, I kiss the pad of his thumb. 

His eyes widen. 

And I suppose I have to keep going. I want Simon to keep looking at me like that. So I press my tongue against his thumb and he does what I want him to do (for once!) and pushes it into my mouth. 

And there I am, sucking shamelessly on Simon Snow’s finger in the back of the Watford library. 

**SIMON**

How I’ve not already come in my pants is a mystery to me. Baz is so fucking hot. And I think I have a weird thing for his eyebrows. They’re such a lovely shape and he’s cocking one at me right now and I’m about to lean forward and kiss it. (I don’t. I think Baz would find that disturbing.) 

Instead, I focus on Baz _sucking on my finger._ I press it further into his mouth and he sucks enthusiastically. I really can’t help but think what his mouth would feel like around my cock. This good multiplied by a million. I’ve never been good at maths but I can assume it would make me come in three seconds flat. 

I have to pull my thumb out of his mouth in order to kiss him as hard as I want to. But then I’m hurriedly untucking his shirt from his trousers and undoing the bottom few buttons. My still slick thumb rubs against Baz’s stomach and he gasps at the touch. 

I rub my hand against his stomach, enjoying the sparse line of hair there that leads lower. I bravely tuck my fingers in the waistband of Baz’s trousers. I can feel him tense under my touch and I pull my face back so I can look at him. 

_Is this alright?_ I silently ask. Not that I even know what I’m doing. I think I just want Baz’s cock in my mouth and him at my mercy. I want to watch him come undone — to be vulnerable with me for once.

Baz nods and presses his hips forward into my touch. I start to undo his trousers, managing to tug them down his legs quickly. I leave his pants because my heart rate is speeding up and I recognize that I’m incredibly (and probably visibly) nervous about this. 

Before I lose my nerve, I push Baz back into the shelf behind him and kneel down in front of him. I look up at him and see his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows. 

Baz’s **nothing to see here** spell must have worn off because the next thing I know, I’m hearing my name and it’s not being sweetly whispered to me from Baz.

“Simon!” someone whisper-shouts. 

I whip my head to the side and see Penny standing at the end of the shelf and staring at Baz and I, completely horrified. (I suppose I would be horrified, too, if I saw my best friend about to suck off the person they _hate.)_

I scramble to my feet as Baz swiftly pulls his trousers back up and rebuttons his shirt. His hair is still a mess, but I don’t dare reach up to fix it. Baz is looking at me with wide eyes and when I turn my head, Penny is staring at me in horror. 

“Hi, Pen,” I croak out. 

“Whenever you’re done with Basil here, please meet me in the Dining Hall,” she says. I know she’s trying to keep her cool. She turns around quickly, her hair whipping behind her. 

I shoot Baz an apologetic look before rushing after her. I really need to stop fleeing the library with insanely obvious erections. 

— 

Penny’s questions are just making me more confused, and this isn’t the first time this has happened. 

“Do you fancy him?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“How long have you been… doing that?” 

“Two weeks.” 

“ _Two weeks?_ Why didn’t you tell me?” 

I shrug. “I don’t know.” 

We’re seated in the Dining Hall, a large plate of scones between us. I think Penny’s too busy interrogating me to eat, but I’ve already stuffed four of them down my throat. I’m buttering up a fifth one. 

“How did it start?” she demands, leaning her arms on the table. I’m quite afraid she’s going to flip it over — not that she necessarily has the strength to. She certainly has the willpower. 

I shrug again. A common theme right now is that _I don’t know_ what’s going on between Baz and I. I just know that I’m enjoying it and I don’t want to stop. I haven’t given myself much time to sit down and think about it. (Not that I’d want to. Thinking seems to cock everything up.)

“Really? You don’t know how it started? Did you kiss him? Did he kiss you?” 

“Does it matter?” 

“Yes!” 

I frown at her a bit and she looks around us nervously. Nobody is sitting close enough to us to hear our conversation or even her outburst, but now I’m wondering if it would be so bad if people heard. 

Baz and I haven’t discussed it. We haven’t discussed _anything._

“Yes,” Penelope says again, quieter this time. 

“I reckon I kissed him,” I say. Even though I know I kissed him. I think I would have punched him if he’d kissed me first then. Now? I get a thrill down my spine just _thinking_ about Baz kissing me first. 

“Right,” she says. “And why in the name of Stevie Nicks would you do that?” 

I shrug and grunt, my mouth too full of scone to answer her without also spraying her with delicious bits of sugary pastry that I’d rather keep in my mouth. 

“You’re impossible,” Penelope mutters. 

I smile around my scone. 

  
  


**PART III**

**SIMON**

I don’t know why we aren’t just snogging in our bedroom. I practically end up following right behind Baz tonight to get to the library. It truly would have been easier to just shove him onto his bed and snog the lights out of him. 

But I can’t deny the thrill of being in the library. Being pressed up against a shelf and having the danger of being discovered hanging over my head. I know Baz feels the same way — that must be why he never fucking talks to me when we’re in Mummer’s. 

**BAZ**

I know Simon is following right behind me. 

I know that he left the top of the tower probably a minute later than I did and that this trek to the library is extremely absurd. 

But, Crowley, I _cannot_ bring myself to look at Simon when we’re in that room together, much less kiss him. It would be easier to just shove him onto his bed and kiss him and kiss him, but that makes it real. 

There are _beds_ in there. Beds on which we could have sex. 

Not that I don’t want to shag Simon. Fuck, that’s most of what I thought about sixth year. (It’s most of what I think about now.) But I don’t think it’s what Simon wants or is ready for. And I don’t dare push him in case he leaves. 

I’m absolutely mental for continuing this. I’m naive if I think Simon really is done with Wellbelove for good. But I’m also an unfortunate bastard and _I will take what I can get_. If Simon somehow wants to continue snogging me in the library, I’m far too weak to stop him. Even if it will _crush_ me when he leaves. When he actually thinks about what this is and inevitably fucks off. 

For now, though, I enter the library and head straight for the back shelves. I can practically feel the heat radiating off of Simon and I know he’s right behind me. 

Before I can even turn around to make some sly comment to him, Simon’s pressing me chest-first into the bookcase and crowding up behind me. I’m immediately on the defence, tensing at the vulnerable position I’ve been placed in. I shut my eyes. If this is how our clandestine meetings end, I want to remember how he feels up against me. But then he slips his hand into my pocket and tugs out my wand. 

“Cast the spell,” he says softly, his mouth just lightly brushing against the shell of my ear and making my poor, undead heart race. 

Simon pushes the wand into my hand and I have to focus incredibly hard before I’m able to cast “ **Nothing to see here** ” and shove my wand immediately back into my pocket. 

Once it’s there, Simon’s catching both of my wrists with his fucking huge hands and pressing them up against the bookshelf on either side of my head. He holds them there and runs his nose up and down the side of my neck. 

It’s hotter than anything I’ve ever experienced. The moan that comes out of me is accidental but I refuse to feel embarrassed. Simon’s foot knocks into my ankle and spreads my legs a bit. He steps between them and I can feel him up against me — he’s half-hard. (Aleister Crowley, so am I. More than.)

“Snow—” I start to say.

He cuts me off with sharp squeezes to both of my wrists and a nip at the nape of my neck just above my collar. I wish I could rip my shirt off so I could feel Simon’s mouth over more of my body. 

Simon apparently has the same inclination because he murmurs in my ear, “Keep these here,” before letting go of my wrists and dropping his hands down to loosen my tie and unbutton my shirt. I’m impressed with how coordinated he is right now. 

I don’t dare move my hands. (For now. I might be a brat about it later.) 

He finishes undoing my shirt with only a few fumbles, then untucks it and reaches up to tug it off my shoulders. I gasp sharply when Simon’s warm breath floods over the top of my right shoulder. 

“Good,” he praises, placing his hands back over my wrists. I think I might bruise (and that’s saying something) from where my arms are pressed up against the shelves (it’s not very comfortable), but I really don’t mind. Especially if it means that Simon will continue to talk to me like this. Fuck, I’m deranged. 

I whine softly when Simon starts to press kisses along the top of my right shoulder, taking his time as he travels across my body to the nape of my neck and then to my left shoulder. He’s caring and gentle, only barely brushing his lips against my skin. I feel like I’m about to explode. 

When Simon starts to suck harshly at my shoulder, I drop my head forward into the shelf and groan. He’s going to leave a hickey on my shoulder and _fuck_ do I want him to. It’s quite a confusing want. 

I hope it stays. Marks never seem to last long on me — rapid healing and all. 

I feel like I’m shaking with need. 

Simon’s tearing me to pieces, ripping me apart with a few swipes of his tongue and the pressure of his lips against my skin. He’s breathing heavily — I can feel his chest rising and falling where it is tightly pressed against my back. 

“ _Simon_ ,” I moan. 

“ _Hmm?”_ he hums, finishing up what I’m sure is another hickey by blowing cool air over the mark and sending a shudder down my spine. 

“Can I turn around?” I mumble. “I want to kiss you,” I add after a moment. My cheeks grow warm at the admission. 

I can feel Simon’s grin against my shoulder and he leaves one final peck on my neck before letting go of my wrists and gripping me by the waist to turn me around. He frowns when he sees my face. “Was that okay?” he asks immediately. 

I think I must look like a huge mess if he just asked me that. I’m breathing heavily and I’m sure my cheeks have more color in them than usual. My eyes are wide. “Yes,” I breathe. “Fuck, Snow, you could do whatever you want to me.” 

He grins brightly (and it shouldn’t be sexy. It shouldn’t be. But _fuck_ , I’m hard). “Then, let me do this,” he says before shoving his mouth into mine. 

Simon Snow is not subtle. He kisses like he’s got a sword in his hand and three seconds flat to make his opponent fall to his knees. (I want to. Fall to my knees, that is. Perfect height to suck his gorgeous cock.) (Well, I’m assuming it’s gorgeous. Just like the rest of him.)

His warmth is a shock, but I settle into it. I should’ve gotten more used to his kisses now, but somehow I’m still thrilled any time that he pushes his tongue into my mouth. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and tug him in closer to me. 

We don’t kiss for long before Simon’s hands are sneaking around and gripping at my arse. Not that I’m complaining. I press into his touch and take advantage of the position to grind forward into him a bit. 

He moans into my mouth and I tug away to kiss his cheek, his jaw, his neck. If he’s trying to leave marks on me, then I get to return the favor. I suck experimentally at his neck and pull away to find, to my utter delight, that it’s already bruising. Thank Chomsky for his apparently peach-like complexion. I kiss that mole on his neck I’ve been eyeing since I was fourteen. I then continue on my way, sucking and biting at Simon’s neck until he’s squirming and whimpering at my touch. 

**SIMON**

I’m gonna do it. 

Merlin knows I’m fucking terrified, but I’m also this close to coming in my pants and that will be infinitely more embarrassing. 

I dig my fingers into the hair at the back of Baz’s head and pull his mouth away from my neck. He pouts and I so want to kiss that off him, but if I don’t do this now, I don’t know when I’ll have the guts to. 

I take in a shaky breath and press at Baz’s shoulders so they’re up against the bookshelf behind him. 

Then I drop to my knees. 

I’ve done this part before. I’ve been here before. I look up at Baz to just _make sure_ this is alright and he’s already nodding emphatically at me, his eyes wide and his cheeks just the slightest bit pink. He threads his fingers through my hair and gives me an impatient tug. Merlin, he’s adorable. 

And sexy. Sexy enough that I’m on my knees in front of him, undoing his trousers and pulling them down his thighs. I let myself get distracted by his thighs for a moment, running my fingers up and down them and thanking magic for the properties of football that make Baz’s thighs look like this. His shirt is still undone and hanging loosely around his shoulders from when I’d had that amazing spur of confidence so I take advantage of his exposed torso, leaning forward to press my mouth against his stomach. 

Baz is just a little bit soft here and I trace my mouth and tongue over the waistband of his pants and along that lovely trail of soft hair that leads underneath them. 

But the second that I pull back away from him, just to look, I catch an eyeful of his cock straining in his pants. 

And it’s intimidating. 

I don’t think it’s just Baz’s cock. I think I’d be intimidated by any bloke’s cock in my face. Or maybe it’s just the magnitude of what I’m about to do. 

Either way, I can feel my heart pumping faster and my palms start to get sweaty. I look up at Baz, who still has his hands in my hair. Baz, who has spent his entire adolescence making my life a living hell. Baz, the handsome bastard who kisses me in the back of the library, leaves hickeys low on my neck, and raises his eyebrows at me when I forget to cover them up before class. 

Baz, who kisses me like he means it. 

Baz. 

My Baz. 

He raises his eyebrows at me. “Alright, Snow?” 

I am decidedly and abruptly _not alright._

So I do the most embarrassing thing possible. 

I stand up, not even bothering to help Baz put his trousers back on, stutter, “S-sorry, I have to go,” and fucking run out of there. (Still with an unhelpful erection.) 

  
  


**PART IV**

**BAZ**

It’s been a week since Simon freaked out on me. It’s been a week since he pushed me up against a bookshelf, tore down my emotional walls that I’ve spent years building, kissed me like he _cared,_ and then left me high and dry. It’s been a week since we’ve spoken.

Not that Simon hasn’t tried. He keeps attempting to corner me and explain himself, but I won’t have it. I’ve even spelled him mute a few times when he tries to catch me after class. 

I can’t stand the heartbreak. I cannot fathom Simon telling me that the reason he couldn’t suck my dick (I assume that’s where it was going) is because he’s not attracted to men. Because he’s not attracted to me. Because he finally came to his senses and remembers what we are to each other.

I figure if I just avoid him until he inevitably gets back together with Wellbelove, I can survive it. He’ll stop trying to talk to me about _his feelings_ once he has his perfect girlfriend back and is back to his usual, golden-boy self. 

I don’t want to hear Simon out, but there is a masochistic part of my brain that has to know why he left me. Pulling up my trousers and fleeing the library with a massive stiffy wasn’t how I thought my night would go. 

Simon inevitably wakes up before me every morning. Despite his slovenly lifestyle, Simon is the earliest riser I know. I pretend to be asleep until he leaves for breakfast, then I get up and get ready. 

He fucks up my routine today. When he has finally left after successfully knocking about for fifteen minutes, I get out of bed and collect my clothes from my wardrobe. I leave my wand on my bedside table because I don’t anticipate being attacked while getting dressed.

Clearly, I was naive.

The door opens and Simon steps back in the room and shuts the door behind him. Bastard was probably just standing outside in the hallway. And now I’m severely lacking a defense against whatever Simon wants to say to me. 

“Baz,” he says. 

I sigh and turn around to find him blocking my way by standing in between my wardrobe and the end of my bed. I’d have to shove him out of the way to get out of this situation. “Forget something, Snow?” I ask. 

“Yes,” he says. “ _You_.” 

My breath catches in my throat and I cover it up with a scoff. “Right.” I’m holding my uniform to my chest like it’s the only thing stabilizing me to reality. And maybe it is.

“Baz, d-do you like me?”

“No,” I say quickly, keeping a strong hold on my neutral expression. “We’re not friends, Snow.” 

“Yeah, but do you fancy me?” 

The tempo of my heartbeat is a fucking funeral march at this point — slow and _heavy_ in my chest. I somehow can’t speak. Simon has to know that I at least like him enough to snog him every night in the library. My embarrassing neediness should have been enough to convince him of that. 

“You do, don’t you?” Simon mumbles. His eyes are wide and lovely. 

“We’re not friends,” I repeat, like that means fucking anything. Like he can’t see right through me right now. 

Simon has the nerve to take a step towards me. “I know,” he says. He sighs and reaches a hand up to run it through his hair in frustration. “ _Baz_ ,” he says, looking at me dead in the eye. I’m too weak to look away. “You expect me to believe that we’ve been basically shagging—”

“We haven’t been _shagging_ —” I interject under my breath. 

He ignores me and barrels on through. “—in the library for weeks now and you don’t have _any_ positive feelings for me?” 

“Believe it,” I say, not exactly convincingly. I can do better, but Simon’s hair is shiny and tumbling in his eyes and he keeps shoving it around in the sexiest way possible. It’s distracting me. 

“I don’t.” 

I bite my lip. I have half a mind to just rush forward and snog his brains out so he forgets about this asinine conversation. 

“I fancy you.” 

I roll my eyes and sneer out a response. “That’s your prick talking.” 

“ _No_ ,” Simon says stubbornly. He’s getting impatient. I’m surprised he hasn’t either kissed me or pulled the Sword of Mages on me. “Could you stop being combative for three fucking seconds?” 

I want to say _no_ , but Simon’s really close to me now and it’s taking most of my energy to refrain from kissing him. I can’t believe he said he fancies me. As if the universe would reward me — a vampire, a monster, the antagonist in the great story that is Simon Snow, whatever you’d like to refer to me as — with him. With Simon _fancying_ me. 

“Tell me you feel the same.”

“Snow—” 

“I think you do,” he says, and I can see that sweet, vulnerable Simon in his eyes who is afraid of my response. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Baz. You’re fucking all I can think about. I’m sorry— I’m sorry that I left.”

“ _Snow_ —”

He stops me with his mouth (as I expected he would. And yet, I didn’t make a move to stop him, because I let myself down every time I so much as look at Simon). 

He feels different right now. I’ve gotten to be quite the expert in all things Simon Snow, especially in how he kisses — and this is different. Softer. Wistful almost. 

It makes me want to cry. 

But I kiss him back. I kiss him back with everything that I am because… maybe. 

Maybe he means it. I hold onto that glimmer of hope as Simon shoves my uniform out of my arms and makes it very clear what he wants by starting to undo the buttons of my pyjama shirt. I let him, sighing softly into his mouth. I let the shirt fall from my shoulders and wrap my arms around Simon’s waist, tugging him in to me. 

Despite the more sensual tone to this kiss, Simon’s need is apparent. He’s slipping his hands into the back of my pyjamas and squeezing my arse before very long, and I’m letting him. I suck on his lip and moan when he grips my arse. 

He pulls away from my mouth to kiss my neck and I let my head fall back. He’s gentle — leaving soft kisses and teasing bites against my skin, only sucking gently enough to make me sigh but not leave any sort of marks. 

And when pulls away to look at me, his fingers slipping into the waistband of my pants, I nod. 

He tugs my pants down and gets to his knees in one movement. I gasp when he leaves an open mouthed kiss on my hip. 

I think I actually might cry. 

Simon looks up at me with such _care_ and _affection_ and _softness_ in his eyes that I can’t bear to look at him. I shut my eyes tightly and tilt my head back. 

He takes me into his mouth. 

If I thought that grinding against Simon Snow in the back of the library was the closest I would ever get to genuine sexual pleasure from him, I was dead wrong. His mouth is warm and wet and I’m fucking helpless when he digs his nails into my hips. He’s enthusiastic and I doubt he’s ever done this before, but that’s just a testament to how quick of a learner he is, I reckon. 

He’s doing something really wonderful with his tongue and when he pulls back to suck at the head of my cock sharply, I cry out and my knees nearly buckle underneath me. I sink my fingers into his hair and tug on the strands. 

I manage to keep myself standing by slipping one hand out of his hair and pressing it against the wardrobe door to my left. 

Simon is making the most obscene noises on my cock and I am about to lose all semblance of control. I’m so fucking close. My hips are stuttering as he moves along me with his mouth and I tug on his hair.

“ _Simon_ ,” I whimper. “I’m gonna— off,” I say, pulling at his hair. “You don’t want—”

He hums around my cock and I groan, bucking forward. 

“I— Simon, please—” 

I’m overstimulated. He’s squeezing my hips and hollowing his cheeks around me, not even letting me catch my breath as he yanks my orgasm out of me. I’m vaguely aware of the fact that I’m whining loudly and that my legs are shaking, but I can’t focus on a single thing except how much I love this man on his knees in front of me and how he’s drawing me through my orgasm with so much care. 

I don’t realize I’m crying until Simon has pulled off of me and pressed a line of kisses along my stomach before standing up and brushing the tears off my cheeks. 

“Baz, fuck, I’m so sorry—” 

I quiet him by shaking my head and putting my hands over the tops of his. “No, Simon, it’s alright.” 

“But—” 

“I’m just overwhelmed.” 

Simon blushes a bit. “That good, huh?” he asks, just on the edge of teasing. He’s still cautious. 

I laugh and kiss him gently. I don’t know what this means — that we’re laughing and kissing and I’m still naked and he just sucked me off and I cried when I came. 

“Baz,” he says, his hands still pressed against my cheeks. I’ve stopped crying now, but he’s rubbing his thumbs over my cheekbones soothingly. “Tell me it’s not just me.” 

“...It’s not just you,” I finally concede. 

I’ve never been as brave as Simon Snow and I’ve never claimed to be. But it feels good to tell Simon that I’m just as in this as he is. (I think he’d be terrified if he knew the extent of my feelings.) 

Simon’s face breaks into a giant smile and he wraps his arms around my waist to pull me into his chest. He kisses me. 

And I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that — Simon kissing me. Simon wanting to kiss me. Simon choosing to kiss me.

“We don’t have to get together in the library anymore,” he says. “Now we can just stay up here.” 

“I don’t know that this changes anything, Snow,” I say, frowning. I want this, but I have a feeling that Simon is not thinking this through. 

“Of course it does,” he insists. “We’re boyfriends now, yeah?” 

I sputter and shake my head at him. “What?” I ask. “We’ve snogged a few times and you sucked me off and we’re boyfriends now?” 

He nods. No hesitation. 

And, oh _Crowley,_ the idea of being Simon’s boyfriend — sleeping in the same bed together, rolling around and kissing in the privacy of our own bedroom, ignoring our studies and cuddling the whole day — is _wonderful._ Christmas is fast approaching and I wonder if he'd come home with me to Hampshire. 

“You can’t just—” 

He kisses me. “I can,” he insists. “Be my boyfriend, Baz.” 

“You don’t even like me!” 

“Are you always this fucking stubborn?” 

“Yes, get used to it.” (I’m smiling far too much for Simon to be taking me seriously.) 

“Get used to it because you’re my boyfriend now?” Simon asks optimistically, grinning brightly. 

I roll my eyes and wrap my arms tighter around his shoulders. “Yes, Snow, I’m your boyfriend now.” 

“ _Simon_ ,” he corrects me. Then says, “Good.”

Simon kisses my forehead, and then leans his head against my shoulder. He kisses my jaw and then whispers, “Can we still snog in the library sometimes?”

**Author's Note:**

> congrats if you caught the _two_ holiday references I threw in there. I just kind of forgot that this is technically a holiday exchange lmao and put two random sentences in at the last minute. whoops!
> 
> feel free to find me on [tumblr](snowybank.tumblr.com)! I am just as sexy and annoying there as I am here :)


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